Taken by the Halloween Scarecrow

The Scarecrow

The leaves are turning, the crops are dying, and the scent of decay is in the air.

With every passing day my body aches, ready to feed the very earth that sustains the living.

Each night I watch, waiting for my sacrifice to start the harvest cycle anew.

The cool autumn air rustles my being, and a godforsaken crow lands on my arm.

The bird caws, his beady eye blinking at me before cocking its head in a gesture for me to look forward.

I turn my gaze to the farmhouse window, and a single light glows to life in the darkened room.

My slow heart beats a little faster, and my limbs stir with the tiniest breath of life.

It’s almost time.